


Creative Interpretations

by themunchking



Category: EXO (Band), NCT (Band), SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Five Times Plus One, Idol!SuperM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Switching, student!mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themunchking/pseuds/themunchking
Summary: Instead of being a famous idol, Mark lives a simple life as a bilingual college student in LA, and he’s just been recommended to be the translator for SM’s Avengers of Kpop, SuperM. The pay is good, and the eye-candy’s not bad, either.Or, Five times a SuperM member makes a move on Mark, and one time he makes a move on one of them.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Mark Lee (NCT), Kim Jongin | Kai/Mark Lee (NCT), Mark Lee (NCT)/Everyone, Mark Lee/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Mark Lee/Lee Taemin, Mark Lee/Lee Taeyong, Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 53
Kudos: 862
Collections: SuperM Fest Round One





	Creative Interpretations

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so pleased to finally bring this fic out into the world. SuperM has brought a lot of joy to my life, and the fandom even moreso. 
> 
> As a preface, this is 95% smut. There are numerous kinks involved, but nothing extreme. Everything is consensual, so I hope you settle in for what I hope is a nice, sexy time. 
> 
> Thank you to the mod(s) for hosting this fest!

  
  


**0.**

The call comes on a Friday at 11am, when Mark’s still in bed and the sound of his phone buzzing incessantly on his windowsill (acting as a substitute for a nightstand) forces him to poke his head out from the covers. The venue Mark’s been working at for the past few months didn’t shut until late, and Mark spent a few more hours after that closing everything down. He was really looking forward to getting some well-earned sleep before he has to be back in at four. 

Like any good twenty year-old, Mark never answers phone calls. But one look at the caller-ID had him shooting up in bed, taking one more ring to attempt to collect himself before sliding his thumb across the green answer button. 

“Professor Sun!” Mark says, voice only sounding slightly grated. 

_“Apologies Mark, did I wake you?”_ Figures that Professor Sun would be able to tell he was sleeping. 

“No, no, it’s nothing.” 

_“I’ll get right to the point so you can go back to bed.”_ Professor Sun’s voice is so soothing. She always felt like a mother to him. There were times when she kind of _was_ , too, like when Mark couldn’t afford to take time off work and fly back to Vancouver for the holidays and she welcomed him into the Sun residence and packed his fridge with Korean leftovers. _“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called.”_

Of course he is. It’s not everyday you get a call from your favorite Professor, who’d nodded along with such a terrible, gentle understanding when Mark told her he was taking a semester off—maybe more—to save up some money. Maybe she’s calling to tell him he lost his spot in the translation program, just like the film program had done. Part of him wishes that’s the case, so that way Mark will have no choice but to run back to Vancouver, and turn his back on LA forever. 

Most of him, however, dreads it. 

_“I know you have a job, but I have an opportunity for you that I think will be very good. Are you interested, Mark?”_

Ok, he’s listening. 

-

  


**1.**

  


As soon as Mark sees the house, he nearly turns his early 2000s Corolla around and heads back to his apartment. Just from the look of it, the place he shares in Culver City with _six_ other roommates would fit in one of the bathrooms. 

Honestly, he’s too embarrassed to park his car in the driveway, so he drives around the block and spends ten minutes doing battle with LA street parking. Hopefully some rich person doesn’t get him towed. 

_This is too good to be true,_ he thinks to himself as he stands nervously in front of the door. He’s not stalling to gather his courage. Definitely not. Professor Sun wouldn’t have led him astray, would she? _I’m going to get murdered here, aren’t I?_

Before ringing the doorbell, he makes sure to turn his Find My Friends on. 

Mark doesn’t know _what_ he expected when his Korean teacher and former advisor Professor Sun called him last week offering him a job with SM Entertainment. It was a _translating_ job, no less, working with some of the people he’s been watching and admiring on Youtube since middle school. 

There’s no way he’s qualified for this. Sure he was majoring in Korean translation, but his actual _experience_ doing that is limited to an internship at the Korean embassy a summer ago and some gigs here and there translating menus for KoreaTown restaurants. 

Apparently though, SM and its newest supergroup weren't looking for experience. They wanted someone young and cool (which was him, apparently), that they could hang out with. Mark’s been told only one of the members speaks English anywhere near fluently, and they need a visible translator that’s not a middle-aged dude in an ill-fitting suit. 

All ties have been left at home, replaced by no less than five plain black t-shirts (Hanes, courtesy of Walmart).

The unconventional nature of the job goes even further than that, though. For the next few weeks, Mark is supposed to be living with the guys, going to interviews with them, interpreting their concerts (“I think they want someone they can be friends with,” Professor Sun had said, vaguely). Which is why Mark is currently hauling around the same New Balance duffle bag he got for sleepaway camp seven years ago and a suitcase thrifted from the Silverlake flea market. Does he feel self-conscious? 

You bet. 

Enough stalling, Mark Lee. Think of the money. And the hefty, hefty upfront payment that hit his account this morning, so many numbers it made his head spin. 

To Mark’s surprise, an American man opens the door. He greets Mark like he’s a friend he’s known for years, and they go through the familiar handshake-back-clasp motions. He explains he’s SuperM’s North American manager, technically working for Capital Records and not SM. Mark just missed all the excitement of set-up, he says. Most of the other staff have gone to their hotel close-by, and Mark will meet them when promotions kick off tomorrow. They’re filming a reality tv show, so don’t mind the cameras, and anyways, Mark’s face will be blurred out anyways. 

And the boys are in the living room, does he want to meet them? 

“Let’s do it,” Mark says. It’s not like he can say _no,_ now can he? 

There are very few more intimidating things than walking into a room of six insultingly-beautiful Asian men. Mark’s poor gay heart feels strained already. 

All eyes lock onto him when he comes into view. Fuck, it should be illegal for them to all look so good wearing just simple hoodies and oversized t-shirts. It’s just plain stupid people look like this in real life. 

“Hello, my name is Lee Mark. I’ll be your English translator, please take care of me.” He focuses hard on his accent, tries not to slur at all. He finishes it off with a bow, and grits his teeth through the silence that follows.

“Ahh, cute!” Mark looks up to see _Kim Kai_ smiling at him, eyes crinkled into little half-moons. His heart flutters. He might be having palpitations. 

“Wahhhh, your Korean is so good!” None other than literally Lee Taemin tells him. Maybe Mark should be angry at him, because SHINee was the reason Mark insisted on having such a terrible haircut back in the day, but instead, Mark is just touched. His Korean sounds like his Mom’s, he knows, and she was raised in Incheon. Professor Sun would be proud right now. 

“Thank you,” Mark says sheepishly. They all exchange bows and unnecessary introductions (Kai tells him in his gentle croon to call him _Jongin_ ) and none other than Byun Baekhyun is beckoning him to come sit down. 

“Wow, they really got us someone young. I’m amazed. When were you born, Mark?” Baekhyun says his name with a _eu_ sound at the end, more of an _h_ sound when the _r_ should be. He likes it. 

“In ‘99,” he replies. Truthfully, he never got ahold of the whole Korean age system thing. He’s always found it easier to just say the year. Baekhyun whistles, sounding, somehow, impressed.

“So young and talented! I miss being that young!” 

“Yeah Baek, you’re so decrepit now,” Jongin snickers behind his palms. 

“Hyung, you know the fans online call you, Baekhyun hyung, and Taemin hyung the _hag line,_ right?” Taeyong laughs softly. Baekhyun squeaks. Even after being together as a unit for a few weeks, they already seem close and relaxed with each other. And Mark is supposed to just fit into this? “But now we have a same-age friend for Lucas!” 

Said man waves at Mark. He’s seen online (during his deep research digging) that people call him an over-sized puppy, and seeing him in person, Mark has to agree. If he’s going to make actual _friends,_ that’s the obvious place to start. 

Also, Mark may or may not want to climb him like a tree. 

“We should give Mark the nice room,” Jongin sends a pointed look to Taemin. 

“Oh, no, no, that’s not necessary,” Mark scrambles to say. The last thing he wants to do is get on Taemin’s bad side within an hour of knowing him. 

“You can share with me, in the big room,” Ten speaks up. Mark knows less about him, Lucas, and Taeyong, but he did end up spending hours straight watching Ten’s dance videos online. Ten is also the only fluent English speaker of the group, which means Mark will probably be working with him a lot. Sharing a room makes sense. Though he speaks softly, with adorable accented Korean, it’s impossible to ignore Ten’s perfect, sharp features. And the way he doesn’t look at Mark directly, but at the 2019 Pride socks Mark threw on when he was in a rush. “If that’s cool.” 

“Yes, absolutely,” Mark says, and Ten’s mouth curls into something dangerous and feline. 

Well then. 

  


-

  


There’s a pool table in the room he’s sharing with Ten, because this is LA, and he shouldn’t have expected anything less. And also, the bathroom doesn’t have a door, because despite the room having two beds, rich people apparently don’t need privacy. 

The first few rounds Mark holds back, but he’s a shit liar, and Ten pouts at him until he stops pulling his shots. When Mark first moved to LA, before he got a fake drivers license ( _Connecticut,_ ugh), there was one bar in the area that didn’t card, and it was a dive bar with five pool tables. Mark and his floormates found themselves there at least nights of the week. Mark’s a bit of a shark at this point. Or he would be, but again, the lying thing. 

Ten seems awfully curious about him. Mark’s glad, because otherwise he’d be at a loss of what to talk about. He’s a little intimidated, and definitely unsure of Ten’s motives. Those things don’t add up to great conversation. Fortunately, Ten asks all the questions. 

“So you’re 20,” Ten states. He strikes the ball and it bounces harmlessly on the side, but gives Mark a good angle for his next shot. He has a feeling he knows where this is going, and he’s not looking forward to it. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you taking time off school for this?” 

Mark resists the automatic wince that usually appears on his face when this topic comes up. _He’s_ used to it by now, but in his experience it can get awkward for the other party. “I’m uh—on a break,” he answers vaguely. 

“But you were at university at some point, yes?” Ten’s next shot is better, but it still doesn’t land him a point. Mark has to walk around the table to where he’s directly opposite to Ten. He tries to focus on his shot, but the Thai man is staring at him intently. 

“Until recently, yeah.” 

Mark sinks another. 

“Mmmmh.” Ten hums and strolls leisurely around the pool table to line up the next shot. His path takes him crossing behind Mark, and the subtle brush of a hand over the line of his shoulders is impossible to miss. 

A shiver runs down Mark’s spine. He—he thought it could be like this, but was too chickenshit to put on the moves himself. He _is_ supposed to be working. But Mark is also a young guy just out of his teenage years. A stiff breeze turns him on, and oh, he’s definitely turned on now. 

“What do college students do in America?” Mark may just be imagining it, but it’s difficult to hear Ten’s tone as anything other than _suggestive._ “Do you party as much as the movies make it look?” 

“I guess? I didn’t—I’m not much into that, I guess.” He doesn’t want to say it’s because he was always working, whether doing night shifts at one of three jobs, or grinding away at schoolwork. “We uh, watch a lot of Netflix.” 

“Oh?” Ten lights up. Thank god, this is much safer territory. _This_ Mark feels comfortable talking about. “What do you watch for fun?” 

“Mostly rom coms? Haha, I’m kind of a sap,” he says honestly. Ten fixes him with that feline-like appraisal. 

“Really?” Ten—Mark doesn’t want to say _sway,_ but Ten definitely does creep closer and closer. “You seem like such a cool guy type.”

Ten hops up onto the side of the pool table, near enough that he could easily wrap those gorgeous legs around Mark’s waist, pull him in—

“Nah, I’m not like that at all,” Mark says sheepishly. God, he’s blushing, he knows he’s blushing. 

“I like your socks,” Ten comments airily. 

“Yeah,” Mark chokes out. “I saw you looking.” 

This seems to satisfy something in Ten. Turn some kind of switch, because in his next moves Ten drops all remaining subtly. 

“What do gay kids in LA do for fun?” 

“Uhhhhhh, take turns fucking the same five people and gossip about it?” He blurts out before he can really think about it. For a moment, Ten just blinks at him, then thankfully bursts into laughter. It’s a clear and beautiful laugh.

Ten’s eyes twinkle. “You know about this from experience.” 

If Mark weren’t blushing before, he _definitely_ is now. But this is also definitely beginning to point in one direction in particular and Mark... well, he’s not going to be the one to fight it. 

“It’s LA,” he says, like it’s self-explanatory. Deep breath. Don’t be a little bitch. As he says his next words, Mark drags his eyes purposefully up and down Ten’s body. “There are beautiful gay guys everywhere.” 

Ten smirks, a thin, curling thing. Mark feels like a prey, caught. But is prey only when you’re unwilling? 

“I’ve noticed.” And oh, Ten’s talking about _him._ Mark would like to panic about this for a bit, because Ten is beautiful in an otherworldly kind of way, and Mark is... Mark, but he doesn’t have a chance to, as his brain stops working as soon as he feels Ten’s calf start to wind around him. 

There are a thousand, no, one _million_ reasons why this is not a good idea. Mark’s technically working, and Ten is _technically_ his client. That’s enough of an ethics violation right there. Not to mention Ten is an idol for whom coming out is not an option, and would presumably lose his career if anyone ever found out about this. 

Ok Mark, shut up. A hot guy’s trying to kiss you. 

Frankly, it’s been awhile since Mark’s gotten any action, but he's far from virginal, thank you very much. He partly majored in film, for fucks sake. Try finding any other single major hornier (and gayer) than film. You can’t. It’s impossible. 

So Ten’s lips feel like heaven against his, enough so that Mark feels himself melting into the touch already. He’d be putty in Ten’s hold, if only he asked for it. 

Ten’s spine arches, and he _purrs_ into Mark’s mouth. The vibrations tingle pleasantly against his lips, and somewhere in the haze of pleasure he thinks that Ten is one of the nicest kissers he’s ever had the pleasure of being with. 

Also, the back of Ten’s heel is digging into his back, tugging him closer until the tops of his thighs are pressed against the hardwood of the pool table. And then, they’re falling backwards, Ten laughing into his mouth all the way down. 

Around his head, Ten’s hair fans out like a halo against the soft surface of the table felt. He’s fucking beautiful, in this dazzling, ethereal way that even the cameras aren’t capable of capturing. His fingers are deft and mischievous when they wound around the hem of Mark’s shirt. 

“C’mere,” he says as he licks his lips. Mark doesn’t think twice about heaving his leg over the side and joining him. Knees over hips, hovering over the Thai man, he makes even _Mark_ feel bigger. Ten’s hands tug again, insistent. “Get back down here.” 

“Needy.” Ten responds by nipping at his lower lip. _Fuck, I have to worry about being on camera,_ races through his mind, but also alongside, _fuck, do that again._

Their kisses become sloppier. It’s the kind of messy makeout the heat in Mark’s stomach craves. Ten kisses with such purpose, leading Mark with his perfect, pretty lips and fucking his tongue in and out of his mouth. And Mark gives him the freedom to do exactly what he wants. 

Then Mark grinds down, not even on purpose, and feels how hard Ten is. 

His hips stutter and for a moment, everything feels like it hangs in the balance. The reality of just how stupid this is come crashing back to Mark—

And then Ten moans. 

And Mark becomes captivated by the arch of Ten’s neck. 

Bending up towards him—

So Mark grinds back down on him. Ten’s eyes open into narrow slits, but he grins at Mark with all his teeth. Hands attach themselves to Mark’s hips and dig in. Ten would probably be better on top—he’s seen that body in motion, knows how electrifying it can be. 

But Mark doesn’t want to wait for that. He’s impatient, and what he wants more than anything is—fuck—the feeling of a cock in his mouth. 

The sound of Ten’s breath hitching when Mark begins his slide down Ten’s body lights up his entire spine. 

“Ok, yes, yes,” Ten says in wonder. There’s just the barest trembles to his voice. Mark’s eyes flick up to him, and he takes a moment to revel in the pink blush crawling over Ten’s cheeks. 

“You can grab, you know.” That’s all the invitation Ten needs—he holds onto the on the back of Mark’s head until it stings, and Mark’s mouth just waters more. 

He gets down to Ten’s crotch, his limbs feeling heavy and mind static with want. Normally, he’d want to tease, draw things out more and coax more noises from Ten’s throat. But this isn’t a hookup after a party where they have all the time in the world—it’s the afternoon, and anyone could come looking for them at any time. It’s with that frantic energy that Mark tugs down Ten’s zipper and finally gets his hands on Ten’s cock. 

Ten lets out a strangled shout, which is then quickly muffled by the slap of the palm of his own hand against his mouth.

Mark’s first thought is that Ten has a pretty cock. He says as much. “Even your dick looks good, shit.” Not small, but not so big Mark will have trouble taking it down his throat. He’s a little out of practice, but nothing that sloppiness and enthusiasm can’t fix. He can feel the shivers from his breath reverberate through Ten’s body, his lithe, toned legs.

He always gets a little desperate sucking cock, ever since he found himself in the back of his neighbor’s pickup truck senior year of high school, the taste of cheap beer still ripe on his tongue. 

He drools around the head of Ten’s cock, greedily licking up the beads of precome collecting there. His tongue slides along the bottom ridge, and he smiles happily to himself when Ten’s hips jump in response. How many times has Ten gotten head before? How many times from someone like Mark, who—kinda—knew what they were doing? 

Whatever. Doesn’t matter. What _does_ is that Mark’s going to make it good for him right here and now. 

He continues to slide the flat of his tongue down the side of Ten’s cock, down the vein on the underside until he reaches the curl of hair at the base, where Ten smells clean, but one hundred percent like a _man_ in the way that makes Mark’s dick pulse in his boxers. God, if he can get through this without coming in his pants it’ll be no small feat. 

The best thing about sucking dick, for Mark, has always been how desperate guys get for him and for his mouth. In this sense Ten isn’t special, because there’s the tiny pulse of his hips, chasing Mark when he pulls away. 

“You’re.” Ten pants. “A. Tease.” Mark’s mouth just twists in satisfaction. “You don’t look like you have it in you.” Ten’s hands push him back down impatiently.

So Mark goes down easily. He wouldn’t mind teasing more but he has his own pleasure of chase, and that means getting serious with wrapping his fist around Ten’s cock, slick from Mark’s mouth, and burying his face in Ten’s balls. He slurps wetly at the soft, sensitive skin there, wondering if he should go even further, if it’d be too much to slip a finger in. That happened to Mark, once. He thought he was going to pass out, it was that amazing.

Ten doesn’t make a noise, but the hand in Mark’s hair clenches, whiteknuckled. 

Mark nearly sighs when he gets his dick in his mouth. Even with the creak of the pool table reminded them constantly of where they are, Mark relaxes around the hot flesh and moves down and down until he’s nearly at the base, Ten’s cock teasing the back of his throat. 

“Oh, oh,” Ten swears breathlessly. 

Mark bops up and down with steady pace, each time getting a fraction further, his body quickly remembering what it’s like to have a cock down his throat again. He loves the salty bitterness of precome, the musk at the base of Ten’s cock. 

Ten’s been doing a good job so far of staying quiet, but he can’t help but release a sharp gasp when Mark sucks around his cock hard, then pulls back just to go down and do it again. His hips buck up mindlessly into the hand Mark has gripping his boney waist. Around the dick nearly choking him Mark lets out his own garbled moan. 

The pace picks up as Ten’s desperation does. He squirms and bucks under Mark’s hold but it just makes him go faster, try to push himself deeper until he can’t help but make tiny, choking noises from the back of his throat. 

“Just like that,” Ten whispers. Marks doesn’t even look up—too occupied by the all-consuming satisfaction of this. He doesn’t need to. “I’m close—” he swears, something in a language Mark doesn’t understand. Thai, maybe even Mandarin. _“Mark,_ can I—”

As an answer, Mark just pushes Ten’s hips down with both hands and forces his cock as deep as it’ll go without him totally choking. Ten spills in his mouth and—fuck—he’s missed this. 

-

“Look at this,” Ten whines. He’s standing in front of the ridiculously large mirror in their room—the kind only stupidly rich people have—body twisted in a strange, probably impossible way to examine his lower back. Mark looks. Yeah, it’s definitely red there, rug burn from the pool table felt. 

“Oh, wow. Er, sorry about that.” Mark cringes internally. Ten sighs and flops back down on the bed next to where Mark is lounging, reading through the stack of emails he’d just gotten from the SuperM manager, previews of the interviews he’ll be translating for the next few days. 

Ten peers at him from where his hands are nested in his palms. A smile begins to grow over his face. “Well,” he drawls. “There are ways you can make it up to me.” 

In his boxers, Mark’s dick twitches. It’s too soon after the mindblowing orgasm Ten gave him—sucking him off and, yes, a finger up his hole—but it won’t be too long. He’s young. Refractory period, who? 

Totally naive of him to think Ten wouldn’t be experienced. From the way he used his mouth, and that thin finger of his, he definitely has seen a thing or two. Fucked a someone or a lot of someones. 

“Not saying I’m against that or anything, but you can’t hoard me forever. It might get uh, a little suspicious,” Mary says. So far, no one has come to interrupt them. Most of them, he imagines, are sleeping off the long flight. Someone’s bound to get bored eventually, though, and Mark _is_ the fun new toy.

The laugh Ten lets out can _definitely_ be heard throughout the rest of the house. It’s the first hint Mark gets that he’s missing out on some kind of joke. 

  


**2.**

  


Once is lucky, twice is a fluke.

The next day is so loaded with introductions and schedules that Mark doesn’t have much time to think about what happened. Which is good, because otherwise he’d probably be freaking out. Well, his body remembers, for sure, because there are bruises on his thighs and shoulders from where Ten gripped into him like a vice. 

But he doesn’t waste time thinking _what are we_ or any ridiculous nonsense like that. A hookup is a hookup, that’s one of the first things he learned upon moving to LA. Even more so if the other person is famous. He got off, he had fun, what more could he ask for? 

During rehearsals Mark politely folds himself into the corner of any given room and watches the group while leafing through pre-interview memos. They’re so talented, and even in baggy sweats, breathtaking in person. Thin, too. Ten is small and fit so perfectly in Mark’s grip, but Taeyong in particular appears birdlike in both build and personality. 

Baekhyun keeps things light for the most part, but there comes a time where all of them adopt a hyper-focused attitude that is astonishing to witness. 

There’s a lot to learn from them. More than Mark ever could have thought. 

A few days into the week, and Mark is honestly... adjusting well. Yesterday he met the CEO of SM Entertainment himself, who was more similar to Mark’s own grandfather than he was comfortable with. The big SuperM showcase went well, too, as did Mark’s first time live translating on stage. In front of dozens of reporters and cameras catching every word.

Yeah, no big deal. 

Mark hasn’t been so busy since orientation week freshman year. Cringe. At least with this there’s no ice breakers. It feels like a relief when he actually gets the chance to put his feet up. 

“Mark, would you help me with some English prep?” Taeyong brandishes a wooden spoon Mark recognizes from the kitchen. Mark’s laying on the extremely comfortable, probably cost thousands, living room couch. Lately his phone is blowing up, his friends and relatives freaking out, but also a lot of _non_ -friends, people who thought they were too cool for him. Fuckers. “I’ll make you lunch.” 

Mark would help anyways, but he’s never going to turn down free lunch. 

Although they hardly know each other, Taeyong treats Mark like a dear younger brother. It’s sweet, and the genuine extension of kindness reaches into Mark’s chest and tugs on his heartstrings. By and large, Taeyong is like this towards all of the members—offering to do things for them, cooking them meals. 

From what Mark can tell (informed by his furious Googling a few days ago), it seems like an enormous weight has been lifted off Taeyong’s shoulders, but in this position where he no longer has to be the leader and can just be _himself._

Now Mark is part of that ecosystem, too.

Taeyong makes him _pajeon._ Mark feels his eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he takes the first bite. 

“Woah! Hyung, this is delicious!” 

“You don’t have to exaggerate,” Taeyong laughs, cutting himself a piece with his chopsticks. 

“No, well, I’d call anything home-cooked delicious, but that’s not the point! It really is so good.” A bit more sheepishly, he says, “You’re so talented, hyung.” 

Taeyong’s gaze softens. For someone known for his intense stage persona, those eyes can really be so gentle. Mark shines in it like a warm spring day. 

They start out by the pool for Taeyong’s English lesson. It’s early evening, and they’ve just returned from a long afternoon of schedules. Tonight, Mark is off duty, but the members have more dance practice. Taeyong’s questions are good natured but simple, and the conversation quickly strays from English practice to a more general back and forth. 

Gradually, Mark begins to consider that the English was just an excuse for Taeyong to talk to him. He doesn’t mind. 

Even in the lowering sun, though, things become too hot, and they retreat to the frigid safety of Taeyong’s room. 

Scattered across the floor are bags and boxes from various designer labels. Taeyong has some of the clothing spread out on the floor, along with some fabric markers. A brightly patterned bag catches Mark’s attention—upon closer inspection, he can see the distinct hand-done nature of the colors, the fun, unrestrained creativity. 

“Yo man, this is actually so sick. You did all this yourself?” 

Taeyong nods happily. Mark decides to focus on the designs instead of the price shock; Taeyong is doodling on designer items that probably cost more than Mark’s monthly rent. 

“I’ll make you something, too.”

“You don’t have to. It’s too much, seriously.” 

“Mark,” Taeyong levels him with a gentle smile. “I want to.” 

From where he’s leaning against the wall, Mark blushes. Taeyong drinks in the sight of him, and then he’s moving closer, into Mark’s space, close enough that his intentions are undeniable. 

“Oh,” Mark squeeks out. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Taeyong replies, then leans in to kiss him. 

Kissing Taeyong is different from kissing Ten. Despite how quickly he came onto Mark, most of that initial confidence disappears in the ensuing moments, when Mark’s brain catches up to his body and decides to start kissing Taeyong back. 

Once he does really get with the program, though, he throws himself into high gear. He hauls Taeyong in closer with hands around his skinny hips. His back thuds against the wall, and thankfully, Taeyong’s room doesn’t share a wall with any of the members, who are probably all napping. 

Best not to wake them, then, and keep their mouths occupied. 

Taeyong’s mouth is slick and warm, his tongue poking out in nearly a shy way. It’s sweet, until Mark begins to ask for more and Taeyong gives over control easily. They’re the same height, and Taeyong’s body fits against Mark’s perfectly. He feels him pressed against his body everywhere—chest to chest, arms around shoulders and looped around necks, thighs slotted together. 

Taeyong sighs into his mouth when Mark begins to grind his thigh up into him. The noise he makes is so pleased and happy that it sends signals straight to his cock. He wonders if he could get Taeyong off just like this, grinding desperately against his leg until he came in his pants. 

He wonders, but they don’t need to do that, not when they have a bed. That’s a fantasy for another time, like when Mark has to hold himself back from pulling Taeyong into an electrical closet at a venue. 

Instead he walks them backwards blindly across the room, until the back of Taeyong’s knees hit the bed. He means to just let Taeyong go down—wants to stand over him, admire him, drink in the sight of it all, but Taeyong grasps his shirt, and gravity does the rest. 

Mark ends up on top, straddling Taeyong. Every high school fantasy he had went exactly like this. Pretty boy staring up at him including.

“Uh, hi,” Mark says. 

“Ah, cute,” Taeyong replies, and then they’re kissing again. Mark wants him. Wants all of him. 

“Can I—” he cuts himself off. Instead, he presses his face into Taeyong’s neck and licks at the exposed skin there, careful not to leave any marks the makeup noonas will have to cover later. 

“Fuck me?” Taeyong finishes, seemingly able to read his mind, though Mark is too embarrassed to answer. “Yes. Want you to.” 

Shirts, pants, everything comes off in a flurry. Taeyong ends up tangled in his own shirt and Mark briefly entertains the idea of leaving him like that, tied up, before realizing he’d rather have those hands do other things. Taeyong’s hands _are_ so beautiful. 

Mark trails hot kisses down Taeyong’s chest and stomach—he’s so small here, so tiny, that Mark can easily trace his fingers over the outline of his ribs. Taeyong squirms under the touch, trying at once to both get away and get closer.

“Turn over, hyung. Stretch out all pretty for me.”

Taeyong jolts at the first touch of cold lube against sensitive skin. “I’ll take care of you hyung,” Mark murmurs. He teases around the edge of Taeyong’s cute pucker, his whole body quivering as Mark does so. 

“Ahh, perfect Mark,” Taeyong whimpers when the first finger slides inside. 

“You’re so tight,” Mark says in awe, mostly to himself. “Am I gonna fit?” 

It really is true—Taeyong is so tight, so hot against him that Mark is dizzy from just thinking about how good it’ll feel inside. 

Taeyong just arches against the finger in him further. Mark takes care to go slowly, at first patiently stretching him out first with stroking motions, then by rolling small circles around and around until Taeyong is fisting the sheets and arching his hips back in a silent plea for more. 

The second finger feels just as snug, but the tiny noises Taeyong makes are a great motivator. He alternates between chanting Mark’s name and moaning things unintelligibly into the bed, both of which are easy on the ears. 

He keeps going—adding a third—beyond the point where he thinks Taeyong is ready, to when he’s needy and thrusting back against the digits. 

“I’m ready Mark.” Taeyong’s voice sounds high and breathy. 

“Ready for what?” Mark asks, even as he pulls back his fingers and pulls down his boxers. He could sigh in relief when his cock springs free. 

“Your cock,” Taeyong says at once. “Put your cock in me. Please.” 

He asks so nicely, it makes Mark blush. He’s glad they’re doing it like this, with Taeyong splayed out on his knees, back arched up so nicely. Otherwise, Mark would be too flustered. 

The condoms Taeyong has a regular Trojan brand, American, like the kind you get in drug stores. Taeyong bought them here, after coming to the states. Mark’s head spins with thoughts of him popping into 7/11 wearing an oversized hoodie and mask, heart pumping at the thought of being caught buying something like _this._ Did he go in with a manager waiting in the car? Or maybe he snuck out. Maybe Ten went with him. 

Mark nearly chokes on his own tongue when the head of his cock finally pushes in past the rim, the tight ring of muscle clenching down hard on him. 

“More,” Taeyong pleads. “Mark, I need more.” 

“Ah, hyung—” Mark takes a deep breath for himself. The sudden, urgent need to come passes. “Fuck. Shit, okay.” 

Each inch is grueling for them both. How is it that Taeyong can be this tight still, even so wet and stretched? “Feel so good around me,” Mark praises. 

“Please don’t keep me waiting longer.” 

Finally, when Mark bottoms out, they both feel like they can breathe again. Mark flattens himself across the long expanse of Taeyong’s back, until he’s right up close to that pretty, pierced ear. “Hyung, how do you want me to fuck you?” He runs a hand up and down Taeyong’s side. 

“Hard,” Taeyong says, voice not at all sounding like a leader. Instead, it sounds like he’s begging. Like he’s small. 

With a sweet voice like that, of course Mark has to give him what he’s asking for. He wants to take and take. He sets a pace that’s brutal from the start, one he knows he can’t keep up for long, but also won’t have to. Leaning over Taeyong with his hips pistoning down, it’s easy to find that vulnerable, bundle of nerves. 

Taeyong cries out when his cock drives into his prostate, and then Mark hits it dead on with his next two thrusts. He knows the pleasure must be surprising, and overwhelming coming all at once. Well. He did ask for it hard. 

Just like Mark thought, Taeyong _does_ feel perfect around him. The pleasure of it is devastating, and if Mark still had any walls to keep up they’d have come crashing down as soon as his hips pressed all the way inside. 

It’s when Taeyong starts to shake that Mark slows down again, deliberately dragging the head of his cock along Taeyong’s prostate when he pulls out. 

“Don’t stop,” Taeyong whines. Mark just pets softly across his lower back, until he finds himself pushing down, until Taeyong’s hips are angled up with a ridiculous arch. 

“It’s better slow,” Mark swivels his hips to emphasize his point. His breathing feels ragged. “Lasts longer. Feels so good when I grind into you.” 

Mark folds himself over Taeyong’s back. He catches his wrists and tugs them high above Taeyong’s head on the bed. Taeyong is so perfectly vulnerable like this, helpless to take whatever means of pleasure Mark chooses to give him. 

Still, Mark is nice, at his core. He mouths across the base of Taeyong’s neck, pressing soft kisses into the baby hairs there. 

He starts up a slow, dirty grind. He’s reminded of dance lessons, of watching the other boys in the mirror thrust their hips and grab their dicks through sweatpants that held little to the imagination. He’d know he was gay before that, but there’s nothing like some obvious homoeroticsm just to be sure. 

Despite his earlier protests, Taeyong loves this. Mark knows from the sounds leaking from his lips. With this rhythm it’s easier for him to meet Mark’s thrusts. His cock is so rubbing so deep, and he wants Taeyong to feel the shape of him tomorrow in the borrowed practice rooms, when he’s sitting down getting his makeup down, and every night after this when Taeyong tugs at his cock under the sheets. 

The tight, wet press of Taeyong around his cock is one thing, but it’s the quiet, strained noises he makes that has Mark’s balls tightening. He sounds so lovely here still, like he does in interviews, nothing like how he spits and growls on stage. 

“More, need more,” Taeyong is saying. Mark snaps his hips forward again but no, that’s not what Taeyong needs. Instead, Mark slips his finger into Taeyong’s mouth, hooking into the cheek and letting Taeyong drool on it until it’s messy. 

Then when it’s good and wet, he slides that finger between them, until it’s teasing against Taeyong’s hole, not going in, just there. He feels _himself,_ sliding in and out with long, deep thrusts. Taeyong flutters around him desperately. It feels so good that Mark can’t hold back his groan—he only imagines that the sight of it is even better. 

“Mark, Mark, want you to come in me,” Taeyong says wetly. He’s desperate now, writhing. Just where Mark wants him. “Want to feel you. Need it.”

“Make yourself come,” Mark groans. Taeyong’s body doesn’t hesitate—his hands still stretched out in front of him, he uses them as leverage to fuck himself back vicously onto Mark’s cock. 

“Mark, touch need—need, please touch me,” Taeyong gasps in between thrusts. Mark frantically worms a hand between them and encircles his fingers around his dripping cock. He’s so wet already that Mark doesn’t need lube. 

He jerks Taeyong off hard and fast, just like his thrusts had been. As he comes into Mark’s fist, Taeyong bites down on the sheets to keep from screaming. As he comes he clenches down on Mark like a vice, a perfect, lewd vice, and Mark finds himself following right after. 

“Not much of an English lesson,” Mark says after the condom is safely wrapped in half a roll of toilet paper and buried at the bottom of the trashcan. It’s his lame attempt at diffusing any possible tension. Fortunately, Taeyong just smiles serenely at him. 

“Actually, it might be,” he says. He’s stretched out on his bed like a cat, perfectly positioned to catch the rays coming in through the window. “You talk a lot in English when you’re fucking.” 

Although Taeyong has seen him naked—literally felt his dick—Mark still blushes head to toe. “Uhhhhh, really?” His voice even cracks a bit at the end, on top of going up five pitches. “Haha, that’s so funny, I had no idea,” he says, despite not finding it funny at all. 

Taeyong laughs from behind his palm. 

When Mark returns to his and Ten’s room, he purposely avoids any _look_ Ten may or may not be giving him. 

  


**3.**

  


Once, Mark can get. It’s not unbelievable that Ten doesn’t have time or the energy to sneak around in Korea and desperately needs some action—what better place being America? Two is... a bit suspicious. But knowing that Ten and Taeyong are close, Mark assumes that his secret encounter with Ten was not so secret after all, the same going for the one with Taeyong. 

Three, though? Three and something’s definitely up. 

The fact that it’s _Jongin_ isn’t terribly surprising on its own. Mark thinks back to when they first met, and how he’d been practically shitting himself trying to look Kim Kai in the eyes. But when he had, they were dark and beautiful, and Jongin had gripped the back on his neck with such confidence. He’d taken to Mark so easily, and out of everyone, he feels naturally drawn to Jongin and just so _comfortable_ in his hyung’s presence. 

This is the curious thing about Jongin—Kai, idol of idols, best dancer of a generation, performed a solo at the fucking _Olympics_ —he’s nothing like his onstage persona in real life. He pouts. In the morning, he’s the last one out of bed, comes padding down the hallways with a bird’s nest of hair stacked precariously on his head. He’s sweet, and plainly, adorable. 

And also, he seems to be obsessed with Mark. 

The crazy week of promotions is halfway over when Mark notices it: Jongin had this habit of looking at him. Staring, really. And his gaze is always intense and burning. Even if Mark were to squirm, it wouldn’t let up. Fortunately, he’s got no intention of doing so. It heats him in a way that has his blood _singing._

SM’s tactic of having a translator that “blends in” with the group is working perfectly, to the point where it might be working _too_ well. There are more than a few awkward behind the scene interactions where American staff having only having done the most cursory amount of research actually _do_ mistake him for a member. 

It could be because of how quickly they’ve adopted Mark as one of their own. They joke with him, share their food, and insist Mark gets some time in the makeup chair before getting in front of a camera. They teach him their dances, and on one memorable occasion that included a lot of American beer, the SHINee fan chants. 

Through it Jongin is a steady presence. In each interview they sit next to each other, Mark on the end, and often, with Jongin’s hand resting steadily on his knee. Or his inner thigh. 

And whenever Mark talks, Jongin turns to him fully, despite the fact that translators are definitely meant to be heard and not _seen._ Despite all of his training, Mark finds it so pleasant to bathe in the warmth of Jongin’s attention. 

How it goes down is that some fancy chefs make them an incredible meal, one of the best in Mark’s life, ever. Good Korean-style, too, even better than his mom’s (sorry, _eomma)._

The cameras are rolling for the beginning, shooting a behind-the-scenes. Mark has been assured he’ll be edited out of this documentary, or have his face blurred, which is pretty nonsensical considering how much airtime Mark has gotten during press. 

Either way, it strikes him as unfair that they have cameras in their face even in their downtime. Do idols really have to sacrifice _this_ much? 

Eventually, the crew ends their shooting, and everyone sits down to actually eat. 

“Mark, come over here,” Ten calls. “Don’t be shy.” 

Jongin perks up immediately, a dog that’s caught a scent. He’s sitting on the end of the bench, and Mark rationalizes that it just makes sense for him to scoot over and for Mark to squeeze in. 

There’s some argument over who gets to make Mark’s plate. 

“There’s no need guys, please,” he stammers. 

“Shush and let your hyungs take care of you,” Jongin tells him. Afterwards, when Mark has let the member’s hospitality be pressed on him, Jongin’s hand finds that comfortable spot on Mark’s thigh again. 

Baekhyun may or may not drink too much wine. His face does indeed get progressively redder throughout the evening; his laugh gets louder, his jokes lewder. 

A couple times, Mark has to hide his face in his hands from embarrassment. Jongin tugs him closer, as if shielding Mark in the crook of his neck drowns out Baekhyun’s cackles. 

It’s hard not to find it nice. Jongin is so _warm,_ like the sun he gets in the morning settles into his skin and remains there for him to spread out into the world. Above them, the LA night sky is tinted pink. From the light pollution, it’s never truly black. 

Because Baekhyun had indeed drunk too much, he’s basically carried downstairs to the couch, slung between Taeyong’s narrow shoulders and Yukhei’s wide ones. When the Chinese man looks Mark's way he grins openly and laughs, like the two of them are sharing a hilarious inside. 

What that joke is Mark has no idea, but it’s nice to be included. 

Jongin walks with Mark as they trail behind the rest of the group. The staff is cleaning up, or gone to their caves or wherever they spend their time when they’re not following idols around. It feels only natural for Mark to be led past Baekhyun wrapped in a blanket on the couch (water nearby), past the turn to his and Ten’s room, until they end up in the one Jongin shares with Baekhyun. 

_Was_ sharing. At least for the night, he’s got it to himself. 

The entryway is as far as Mark’s confidence takes him. He stalls awkwardly after the door is closed, when Jongin has left his side to lounge on his bed, sitting back on his elbows, hips curving into a wide and inviting seat. 

Mark scratches the back of his neck. Jongin smiles at him, terribly gentle for the moment they’re headed towards. 

“Come here, Mark,” Jongin says, voice hovering just barely above a whisper. “If you want.” 

Mark wants. He really wants. 

The journey across the floor seems to take ages; it may have something to do with the fact that Jongin strips off his shirt when Mark is halfway there, which stalls him out because that alone is a sight all in itself. All of Jongin’s bare skin laid out like that for him to look at, to touch, make him feel dizzy with want. His shoulders gleam in the filtered light from the window. 

If Mark could prostate himself before those shoulders, the sinful dip of Jongin’s hips, he would. Leaning back on his elbows on his bed, shirtless, Jongin looks like he’s just stepped out of a magazine editorial. Possibly an OnlyFans shoot too, because for Mark this is enough jerk-off material for the rest of his life. 

Impossibly, he looks so wide-eyed and innocent, so effortlessly beautiful, even as he cocks his head to the side in a silent invitation to come closer. 

Mark does. There’s no way he can resist. 

Once within reach, Jongin tangles his fingers in the hem of Mark’s shirt and hauls him forward, until Mark is tumbling, ungracefully, into his hyung’s lap, a pair of hands wrapped firly around his hips. 

_“Fuck,”_ Mark swears. Under his fingers, he feels Jongin shudder. A full-body, shivers everywhere kind of shudder. 

“You’re so—” Jongin gasps, trembles. “You’re so— hot, fuck, you’re so hot when you speak in English.” 

It’s so surprising that Mark nearly laughs out loud. Luckily he doesn’t, because that would for sure kill the mood. It does send his mind racing though, thinking of all the times he sat next to Jongin at the end of the row, through all those interviews. Talking. In English. 

“Is that why you were always looking at me?” 

Jongin attaches his mouth to Mark’s clavicle and sucks, creating what will surely be a hickie tomorrow. “How could I not? You have no idea how hot you are, do you?” Which is, frankly, incredible coming from Jongin. “Your voice get so deep, all I could think about in those interviews is you—”

He cuts himself off; the tips of his ears are bright red. It’s cute. It’s so fucking cute that Jongin gets embarrased like this, even when he has Mark in his lap, Mark who would do _anything_ Jongin asked, his skin under his tongue. 

“Yeah,” Mark says in English, breath against the shell of Jongin’s ear. “Me what?”

The bed squeaks when Mark lands on his back, bouncing slightly from the impact. His stomach is doing cartwheels from how Jongin took hold of him and tossed him so easily, how he was manhandled without even the chance to protest. 

Jongin's hands are hot, burning against his skin as the older man pushes his thin t-shirt up to his armpits. _“Hyung,”_ he cries out when Jongin dips down to follow the path of his fingers with his tongue and those incredible lips. 

“Mmmmh?” Jongin smiles, and it’s not even seductive at all, just Jongin’s usual soft expression, but it still sets off a thousand tiny explosions inside Mark’s body. But Jongin’s also waiting for something. 

“Keep going,” Mark continues in English. “Please.” It doesn’t matter if Jongin can understand him completely—what matters is that Mark keeps going. He can do that. With what Jongin’s doing to his body, it’s hard to keep his mouth closed at all. 

Jongin licks up Mark’s stomach until he reaches one of his pert nipples, and slides the little bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around again and again.

“Oh fuck, that’s it, c’mon, more,” Mark moans. He slides one of his hands into Jongin’s hair; he loves how long it is, and of course the silver looks absolutely incredible with his gorgeous honey skin. “Those lips are good for something, aren’t they. Wanna—wanna make them all swollen and pretty.” 

All of these words come out in English. Jongin understands more of the language than he lets on, but understanding here isn’t the point. The way Jongin whimpers each time Mark opens his mouth and spews more filth _is._

Leaving no part of Mark’s body unattended, Jongin uses his thumb to play with the nipple not currently in his mouth. Mark arches up into the touch—he would fly straight off the bed if his hips weren’t weighed down by Jongin’s body. 

“Play with me just like that,” he says breathlessly. “I know you’re always looking at me. How long have you been waiting to take my clothes off, huh? Have you been jerking yourself off every night 

Jongin is making these small, sexy noises around Mark’s nipple as he talks. It urges him on, earlier shyness dropping away completely and Mark tangles his fingers in Jongin’s silky, silvery locks. 

“Ah, it’s too much, _hyung,_ please.” His nipples feel so sensitive, so tender, but even when he begs for relief he knows he doesn’t really want it to stop. And Jongin must know it, because he just moves his mouth across Mark’s chest to the other side. Mark whines pitifully. “You’re making me so sensitive, fuck.”

“I wonder if you could come just from this,” Jongin muses. Maybe, but Mark doesn’t want to find out. Not today, at least. 

“Please hyung. I need—I need—” 

“What?” Jongin smirks. The look that Jongin gives him is a split between his dangerously confident, seductive stage persona, and the softy who pouts and likes to rub his member’s backs. 

“More,” Mark whines, on the edge of begging. 

“More where?” Jongin teases. 

“More, ah, everywhere.” Mark chokes on the words. “Want your mouth everywhere on me.”

It’s how Mark ends up sprawled on his back, naked and exposed on the bed with Jongin hovering over him, stripped down to only his briefs. The outline of his hard cock is clearly visible, but they both know Jongin isn’t going to touch himself until Mark is taken care of. It’s built into the electricity thrumming between them. 

Jongin takes his time worshipping Mark’s body—because that’s what he’s doing. He lavishes Mark’s skin with his tongue, his burning kisses. Every nook and cranny, greedily roaming over his chest, the softness of his stomach, and then lower, to the dip of his hips. 

“You look so good down there,” Mark babbles. “I want you here every day between my legs. Fuck, you look incredible. Fuck. You’re so gorgeous.” 

Jongin travels further, to the inside of Mark’s thigh. 

“And your _lips._ People say they’re pretty, you know, but none of them have seen you like this. They feel so fucking good on me.” 

Jongin bites at the inside of his knee. At first Mark thinks this might be the turning point and Jongin’s attention will now turn to Mark’s neglected dick, hard and weeping against his stomach. But he keeps going, until he’s cradling Mark’s left foot. 

Never in his life has Mark found feet arousing. But seeing Jongin brushing his lips against the sides, _supplicating_ himself, has his cock jerking. 

“Ah, do you like this?’ Jongin asks as he rubs his thumb into the sole of Mark’s foot. He kneads down, hitting a pressure point Mark didn’t know exists, and his groan echoes through the room. 

“You make me feel so good hyung.” 

Mark's eyes drop to Jongin’s crotch. The tenting in his briefs is too tempting to resist. He drops his other foot, the one currently not being massaged, down until the ball is pressing right into that spot. He’s rewarded when Jongin’s eyes squeeze shut and his hips buck forward into the touch, like he’s helpless to do so. 

And then he pulls away. 

“Hyung?” Mark asks, as sweetly as he can. Jongin’s full attention is on him instantly, and it’s nearly overwhelming. Jongin is intense, even when he’s being sweet. “Will you eat me out?” 

Mark is momentarily overwhelmed by how quickly Jongin brings their lips together for a frantic kiss. “Mark, Mark,” Jongin chants into it. Then like before, with no warning, Mark is being turned onto his stomach and Jongin’s hands are sliding over his ass. 

Spreading him, staring at his hole. 

“Don’t. Tease.” he gasps. His hole clenches involuntarily around nothing. A fierce blush spreads through his body, knowing that Jongin is looking at him there, the hungry expression he imagines on his face. 

The first pass of Jongin’s tongue sends electricity through Mark’s body. _“Yes,”_ he nearly screams, body feeling like it’s tearing at the seams, pleasure building rapidly until it’s all Mark feels, all he knows. The obscenity of it all only makes it better. 

“I knew—” Mark pants. His fingers dig into the sheets in front of him until he’s whiteknuckled. With his tongue, Jongin traces circles around Mark’s rim. Teasing, but not dipping inside. “I knew your lips would be good at this.” 

“Have you been thinking about it?” Jongin asks, sounding just as fucked-out as Mark feels. 

“About—about your slutty lips? Yeah hyung, I have.” 

Jongin groans and presses his face back into Mark’s ass, tongue taking on more purposeful, long passes. “Tell me,” he says, begs. 

Mark can do that. There are a thousand fantasies in his head. “In the morning when you’ve just woken up you look so—ah, _ah—_ puffy and cute, I just want to get you on your knees, rub my cock on those lips. At the showcase,” he pauses to take a series of deep heaving breaths. Jongin’s tongue is pressing more insistently at his hole now, testing the resistance. “You looked so good in your makeup that I dreamed I could take you backstage and come on your face. Make you even prettier.” 

“Look so good with your come on me,” Jongin slurs. He places a chaste kiss of Mark’s hole; he feels like he’s _dripping_ wet now. “Ah baby, you taste so good. Got you all wet.” 

“Hyung. Please,” he begs, too desperate and turned on to be embarrassed. “Want you to fuck me with your tongue. Please.” 

He hears Jongin’s sharp intake of breath. It’s all the warning he gets before the older man is ducking back down and placing the tip of his thumb against Mark’s rim, and then finally pushing his tongue past that tight ring of muscle. 

Mark goes boneless when it happens. It’s not a stretch, but Jongin’s tongue is so good, so hot inside him. The pressure of it inside him scrambles Mark’s mind, and he knows his hips are rutting into the sheets below him but he can’t stop it, not when he’s pulsing around Jongin, it’s that good. 

He keens when the tip of Jongin’s thumb slides inside too, stretching his rim while Jongin licks around it. God, all the idol training really is worth it, because it feels like Jongin doesn’t even stop to pull back and breathe, just keeps going and going, making Mark messier and messier. 

Eventually Mark gives up on trying to be quiet, and instead presses his face straight into the mattress to moan loudly. He might be talking even, “—more, more, hyung please, give me more fingers. I'll do anything.” 

“No,” Jongin answers. “Come just like this. Come with my tongue in your ass, baby.” 

“Fuck!” Mark wails brokenly. His hips push back to meet Jongin as he pushes his tongue in again, fucking him in earnest like he was fingering Mark sloppy. And that’s what he wants—to be made sloppy and laid out. 

Jongin’s fingers dig deep into the fleshy part of his ass, and oh, maybe he said that out loud. Mark rides Jongin’s face like he’s dying, and maybe he is, or he already has, and this is what heaven feels like. Fuck, he’s going to hell for thinking that, it’s so shameless, but that shame coils in Mark’s gut and he knows he’s close. 

“Make me come,” Mark moans. His brain is empty but for this. Jongin, hot behind him, the smooth slide of the sheets over his leaking cock. “Make me come, make me come.” 

And Jongin gets it, because he nudges a second finger in alongside his thumb, the way made easy by all the spit, stuffing Mark’s hole with two fingers and his tongue. Mark comes before he can process he’s going to, just with a long, high wail. 

He blinks back into reality a few seconds later, very aware of how sweaty and gross he is, with Jongin pressing light kisses to the flesh of his ass. 

“Thank you baby,” Jongin says breathlessly. “You were so good.” 

Mark will probably have a thousand wet dreams about Jongin thanking _him_ for letting him eat his ass, but there are higher priorities than that thought at the moment. Lethargy is setting in fast, but Mark manages to look over his shoulder. Jongin is sitting back on his heels between Mark’s shaking thighs, finally with his own weeping cock out. He strokes himself gingerly, as if it hurts to do more, and he’s so hard it probably does. 

“Hyung,” Mark mumbles, feeling embarrassed again post-orgasm. There shouldn’t be any boundaries between them at this point, but still. “Come on me?” 

“Yeah?” Jongin says, eyes dark. It makes Mark flush an even deeper shade of red. It’s a testament to just how—damn, just how fucking _hot_ Jongin is that even after all that, Mark can still feel threads of arousal coiled in his gut. 

“Where do you want it?” he asks, fisting himself a fraction faster. The sweat on his chest glimmers on his abs. It’s fucking hot. He rubs Mark’s ass with his other hand. 

“On my—” Mark nearly chokes on his own tongue. He whispers the next part. “Oh my hole, hyung.” 

“Oh, fuck. Ok, fuck baby. Yeah, I will.” 

Mark jerks when the tip of Jongin’s cock brushes against his hole. “I’m ok. Please hyung, I want you to come on me.” It’s sensitive, but good. It doesn’t take long for Jongin to finish, anyways. They both moan when Jongin spurts hot against him, so close there’s nowhere to go but right on Mark’s ass. 

Mark feels content to just lay boneless for a while, but the bed dips when Jongin moves. He doesn’t go where Mark thinks, though, because the next moment Jongin’s face is back pressed between Mark’s cheek, hand steady on his thigh to keep him from squirming away. 

With his tongue, Jongin presses his come into Mark’s open hole, making him— 

“I’m so sloppy hyung, you’re making me so sloppy,” Mark cries, the first tears of oversensitivity leaking out. Jongin, the bastard, just hums and continues his work of pushing his come into Mark and licking it up when he leaks back out. 

No, he was wrong earlier. He’s going to die _now._

It’s both a blessing and a tragedy when Jongin finishes. He turns Mark over gently, hands soothing and careful now. Mark looks up at him with bleary eyes, and he can’t help himself when he breaks into astonished giggles. 

Thankfully, Jongin laughs back. He’s pleased with himself, and wears it like a glow. “Come on,” he helps Mark sit up. “We can sleep in Baekhyun hyung’s bed, he won’t mind.” 

  


**4.**

  


Baekhyun has eyes like a predator. 

Well, most of the time he’s a marshmallow. But it’s so clear that when he wants he _wants,_ and in the second half of the week, Mark’s found himself the object of that desire. He tries not to liken the eldest to a jaguar on the prowl, but hey, if the comparison fits, then it fits. 

The request is innocuous enough. It’s delivered by Jongin, who fixes Mark with a gentle smile and fingers that card through his hair everyday. 

“Baekhyun wants to drive around and take pics for his Instagram later, after the schedule.” Jongin corners Mark alone in the hallway after breakfast, when everyone else has gone to change and get ready for the packed day in front of them. His tone is casual, but the hands that play with the waistband are anything but. 

_Why doesn’t Baekhyun ask me himself?_ Mark wants to say. Instead he says, “sure.” 

The next time he sees him, the corner of Baekhyun’s mouth slides up into a devilish smirk. 

  


-

  


Many exhausting hours later, when Mark’s throat is dry and sore from how much speaking he’s done, the three of them jump into an Escalade owned by the company. The only person who hadn’t immediately gone off on their own was Yukhei. But something told Mark this wouldn’t be the kind of outing to invite him on. 

Jongin claims the backseat entirely to himself. He sprawls all his limbs out and makes himself comfortable in short order. That, surprisingly, leaves shotgun all to Mark—Baekhyun insists on driving. 

“I drive in Seoul,” he explains. “I’m used to city traffic. And the streets here are so wide! It’s easy.” 

All Mark has to do is point them towards the hills and they’re off. 

They find a place to take photos just before sunset, a closed gas station up on a hill. Normally, Mark would be worried about lingering in places like this, but it’s hard to argue with Baekhyun and Jongin’s determined confidence. 

It’s a rare quiet night in LA—or maybe the rich people who live up here just have early bedtimes. The entire time they act as photographers for their own mini photoshoot, they only see three cars pass by. None of them slow down. 

“Aaaah, it’s so nice here!” Baekhyun stretches out. Mark tries very hard not to drop his gaze to the flash of pale skin revealed when his shirt lifts. “No one is following me, not looking out for cameras around every corner.” 

“How’s it feel not to be famous anymore,” Jongin jokes. 

“It’s not like you guys aren’t well known here.” Mark doesn’t really get it, but he’s mostly thinking about the crowds that have shown up to every press spot they’ve been to so far. And the _screams._ Could he ever get used to something like that?

Mostly Mark just feels content to lean against the car and watch the two idols do their thing. No, he can’t really think of them as just _idols_ anymore, can he? That implies some kind of degree of separation between them, which has been out the window since day one. More than anything, they treat him like one of _them._

It feels good, to not just be an outsider. 

“We should take pictures of Mark, too,” Baekhyun suggests. Mark doesn’t get much say in the matter before Jongin is pulling him to a spot where the hyuns have decided the lighting and scenery is best. 

Baekhyun holds up his phone and treats the whole thing like a professional photoshoot. Jongin tries to arrange Mark’s limbs in a good way, which in itself is a losing battle, because Mark can’t stop laughing. There’s a flustered smile on his face, and he’s probably blushing scarlet, too. 

Still, it feels totally natural when Jongin's arm rests across his shoulders. It feels natural when Jongin pulls Mark in closer to his body, so that his giggles become muffled by Jongin’s jacket. 

He rubs tiny circles into Mark’s backs, and doesn’t let go when Mark stops laughing. In the background, he doesn’t think Baekhyun is taking photos anymore.

A silent conversation, of which Mark is aware but cannot decipher, passes rapidly between Jongin and Baekhyun. It ends with Baekhyun strolling over to the car and leaning against the door. Mark watches him—watches how he seemingly on purpose lifts his shirt up to reveal his smooth plane of his stomach. Mouth-watering. 

While Mark is distracted, Jongin sneaks up behind him. His hands, when they come to cup Mark’s hips, are burning. His breath against the shell of his ear, doubly so. 

“Mark,” Jongin breathes. “Would you like to move this to the car with us?”

Oh. Both—

_Oh._

Mark’s throat feels even dryer than before. Baekhyun is watching them still. 

“What a pretty picture you two make,” he teases. In his ear, Jongin snorts. His hands are wandering now, under his shirt and dangerously close to his waistline. “How would fans react if I put _this_ online?” He snickers. 

“Faint, maybe.” With a touch of pout, Jongin asks again, “What do you say?” 

“Fuck.” Unconsciously, perhaps, or not, Mark tilts his head to the side to give Jongin better access. “Yeah—yeah,” he says in English, before his brain catches up to him. Though that’s probably turned Jongin on further. “Let’s do it.” 

Baekhyun’s grin is absolutely _victorious._

The back of the Escalade is spacious—is this why all those celebrities drive these things? Still, with three people, it’s a tight fit. Mark finds himself in the middle of his two hyungs _,_ head resting on Jongin’s lap as Baekhyun settles between the open v of Mark’s thighs. 

There’s not much room for him to maneuver. Like this, Mark is essentially helpless. It lights a fire in his belly. 

“So cute,” Baekhyun coos. He hoists Mark’s leg up onto his shoulder—thanks, LA’s obsession with hot yoga for the flexibility—and mouths wet, hot kisses to the exposed skin of his ankle. Baekhyun’s pink tongue peeks out, and from where his hands are clenched in Jongin’s, he squeezes. 

Jongin lets out a breath of laughter. “Don’t tease him, hyung.” 

Baekhyun hums in consensus. He looks down and Mark and oh, he feels like his body is on fire, burning all the way up. “Do you want to get fucked by hyung, Mark?” For emphasis, he grinds his hips up, the friction still delicious along Mark’s ass even through their jeans. 

“Nnnng, please,” Mark keens, once again speaking before his Korean catches up to him. “Please fuck me.” 

“God, you right,” Baekhyun says to Jongin. It’s so hot, them talking to each other like he’s not right there listening. He’s still rolling his hips—it might drive Mark insane. “That _is_ so sexy. You going to just watch, Nini?”

“Yeah,” Jongin answers. His voice is noticeable deeper than before. 

It’s only Mark who ends up naked—by his request. There’s something so hot, so dirty, about getting fucked by someone with all their clothes on when Mark’s so exposed. And in a _car_ no less, fuck. 

Baekhyun’s designer jeans (mind-blowingly expensive) chaffe, but that just makes Mark’s toes curl. 

Lube appears, calling into question just how long they’ve been planning this. Do all the boys get in the same room together and talk about him, or something? That would be... really hot, thinking about it. He likes it. He likes feeling _theirs._

“I don’t need, uh, I don’t need much prep,” Mark admits with a blush. His sex life has never been so active. He burns with shame, but he’d fingered himself to the thought of Ten’s mouth in the shower this morning while the other man was scrolling through Instagram a few feet away. 

“How do you want me to give it to you?” Baekhyun lines himself up, rubs the fat head of his cock around the edge of Mark’s trembling hole. 

“Fuck me, hyung, please fuck me.” 

“He’s going to baby,” Jongin says above him. One of his hands trails down Mark’s chest until it finds his nipple and he rolls the rosy bud between his fingers. 

“Hard,” Mark gasps. “I want it hard, hyung.” 

Baekhyun fucks rough, rougher than someone like him looks capable of. Mark feels overwhelmed from that start. Mark probably won’t be writing solioquies about the size of his package or anything, but fuck if he doesn’t know how to use it, the right places to aim that drive Mark crazy but still only tease his prostate. 

He fucks Mark so rough and fast and _perfect._

Hips pistoning in and out, Baekhyun’s all he can feel. It’s an all-consuming kind of pleasure, one that seizes each one of Mark’s nerves. 

Clearly, Baekhyun knows what he’s doing. That alone causes enough thoughts—if Mark’s mind was working at full capacity. 

“Ah, ah—hyung fucks me so well,” his moans get punched out of him. “More hyung, please.” 

Another one of Baekhyun’s thrusts jostles him further into Jongin’s lap. He’ll be so sore in the morning, his hole swollen and insides imprinted with the memory of Baekhyun’s dick, talented like the rest of him. It’s unfair. 

Mark looks up. Jongin’s eyes are fixed on him with a frightening intensity, the kind that drives fans insane when he does it on stage. His pupils are blown wide. 

Mark can only imagine how he looks right now to Jongin, sweating and fucked-out, cock jumping and squirting more precome with each one of Baekhyun’s thrusts. 

“Nnnng,” he moans. It manages to wrestle away Jongin’s attention. What possesses him, he doesn’t know, but he knows he wants to feel Jongin, wants _more,_ so he opens his mouth and waits, tongue pushing against his lower lip. 

And Jongin gets him meaning. He leans down, not close enough to kiss, and far enough away so that Mark can still see his eyes when a long strand of saliva falls from his mouth to Mark’s. 

_God. Fuck._ Kim Jongin just spit in his mouth. Mark swallows, and opens again to show Jongin how good he is. 

_“Mark,”_ Jongin says, both a swear and a prayer. At the same time, Baekhyun groans, surely from watching them. Under Mark’s back he can feel the hard line of Jongin’s cock through his pants, and he must be so hard and aching, if only Mark could get his mouth around Jongin’s perfect dick and _taste._

He’s about to ask for it—beg for it, even—when Jongin sticks two fingers in his mouth. That sure shuts him up.

It feels as though Mark’s mind completely blanks out the moment he gets something to choke on. Everything feels twice as good, and who knows, that might be the oxygen deprivation, but Baekhyun’s thrusts in him each feel like an electric shock straight to his dick. 

Around Jongin’s fingers he moans. God, his mouth is getting so sloppy and so is his ass. Baekhyun’s thrusts produce a filthy squelch of lube. If Jongin’s finger’s weren’t fucking his throat he’d beg Baekhyun to take the condom off, to squirt into his ass and make him drip over the seats. 

As it stands, that’s not possible, and it’s probably a good thing he can’t beg for it, because he would. Instead, he tries his best to rock back onto Baekhyun’s cock, so good and hard in him, with the limited leverage he has at his disposal. 

“Want more baby? Want more, our cute little slut?” Baekhyun teases. The embarrassment washes over him, flush. It’s not enough to prevent Mark from desperately nodding _yes, yes, please yes._

One of Baekhyun’s legs falls to the floor and he really begins to punch into Mark in earnest. His grunts are so deep, so gravely unlike his beautiful singing voice. It’s hot—beyond hot—to know this side of Baekhyun when his fans think him an angel. 

“Gonna fuck your little hole until you’re red and puffy,” Baekhyun growls out. _Yes,_ Mark’s hips say, pushing up into nothing. He’s so hard it’s painful, and he’s not sure he can come untouched, but his hyungs seem determined to find out. 

After that it’s just the indecent sounds of them fucking, and the car groans along with them. If Mark thought Taeyong had stamina then he’s got nothing on Baekhyun. He feels out of time with how long it feels, like it will be morning by the time Baekhyun is done using him. 

Eventually, though, Mark knows Baekhyun is getting close when his punishing pace slows, and he switches instead of slow, precise rolls of his hips that have his cock rubbing against Mark’s battered prostate. After everything it’s nearly too much, and he has no warning before the first hot tears roll down in cheeks. 

It’s a good thing, objectively, that both Jongin and Baekhyun still as soon as they notice. However, it’s the last thing Mark wants, and he has to scramble to grasp Jongin’s wrist to keep him from pulling away. His legs wrap themselves around Baekhyun’s lower back. 

Fortunately, they get the message. Good thing Mark doesn’t need to translate tomorrow, because his voice is going to be wrecked. More precome spurts from his cock when he realizes Jongin’s probably done this on purpose. 

“You’re tight like a virgin.” Baekhyun leans forward and nips at Mark’s collarbones. The angle of his thrusts changes, and he moves his hips with short, sharp thrusts that try to push his cock deeper, deeper into Mark’s heat. The rough material of his jeans rubs against Mark’s cock, far too much stimulation on his sensitive dick, and he nearly comes right from that. He tightens around Baekhyun uncontrollably. “Yeah baby, just like that. Good thing I know better.” 

“Mmmmh,” Jongin says, his first sound in awhile. It comes out strangled. 

“Can I kiss you?” Baekhyun is asking, lips nearly at Mark’s anyways, with Jongin’s fingers. “Can I kiss you while I come in you?” Mark nods furiously. He misses the digits already, but Baekhyun’s lips, his teeth, his tongue is nearly as good. 

Baekhyun comes with two more hard thrusts, and he holds himself inside Mark until he finishes. It makes Mark’s own need to come suddenly _urgent,_ and he’s about to beg for it when Baekhyun pulls back and spits on Mark’s face. 

He comes to hard he whites out. 

The first thing he notices when he comes to an untold amount of time later is that his face is pressed into Jongin’s crotch, and that there’s a damp spot where he is, still, hard and leaking in his pants. His own cum is drying in a pool on his belly. 

“Hyung, please,” Jongin begs. 

“Mmmmh, good boy Nini,” Baekhyun purrs. He leans over Mark and connects his and Jongin’s mouth in a wet kiss, glistening under the street lamps coming through the tinted windows. Jongin cries out into his mouth. 

From when he first landed in Jongin’s bed, he suspected that the older man might be into something like this. To see Baekhyun have such easy control over him, though, comes as a surprise. It’s also hot as fuck, and if Mark weren’t already recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm, his dick would definitely be showing interest. 

Baekhyun pulls Jongin’s dick out of his jeans, and god, he’s leaking so much against Jongin’s fist already. But this also means his cock is _right there_ in front of Mark’s face, and he’s a man of opportunity. He turns and presses his face into Jongin’s sweaty, perfect balls and suckles the sensitive skin there. 

Jongin sobs, true heaves. _“Hyung!”_ he shrieks. Mark can feel his whole body shaking. 

“Fuck, come Nini, come.”

-

“I wasn’t too mean or anything?” Baekhyun asks, after they collect themselves, from the driver’s seat. On his face is a tiny, adorable pout. 

“No,” Mark laughs, still breathless. He likes how warm and cozy Baekhyun’s oversized jacket feels around him. “I liked it. It was good. Uh, super good.” It’s hard not to blush as he says it. 

“I can’t get over how cute you are,” Jongin says. The two of them are sharing shotgun, Mark in Jongin’s lap, the three of them having collectively decided that the backseat was too disgusting to use even after wiping everything down with sanitizer wipes. His voice tickles the back of Mark’s neck. 

“Hyung, please,” he wines. 

“Oh, _now_ you’re embarrassed,” Baekhyun laughs. “You’re a funny dongsaeng, Mark.” 

“Shut up,” Mark says without heat. It would've been unimaginable for him to be saying that to Baekhyun even a week ago, but here he is. He does have to clear his throat, though. Not cute. 

Jongin kisses the shell of his ear. “When we get back to the house, Baekhyun hyung will make you his throat concoction.” 

“It’s disgusting,” Baekhyun sings, “but it works!” 

“Ok, thanks,” Mark replies. A pleased smile falls over his face as they crest another hill, headed back home. 

  


**5.**

  


It takes a long time for Taemin to come to him. 

Mark assumes his flings, if that’s even the right name for them, with the members is something of an open secret. With how close Taemin and Jongin are, it would just be flat-out unrealistic for Taemin to still be in the dark. 

And it’s not as if Taemin doesn’t watch Mark. He does, and Mark notices, and he’s pretty sure Taemin notices his noticing. Then there’s something else, an additional layer. An anticipation, or a trust issue. 

Hey, Mark gets it. As willing as he is to hop into bed with someone he’s idolized for years, Taemin’s been in the business a long time. People have sold his flight info, his address, and the location of every hotel he’s ever stayed at. It can’t be easy to trust someone like him. In his business (which is kind of _Mark’s_ business now), you can’t go around trusting everyone just because you receive a paycheck from the same person. 

Being on tour is like nothing Mark has ever experienced. It’s hectic, and live translating in front of literal stadiums full of people has him praying his voice doesn’t crack. He understands a little bit why people say touring is so draining. 

What surprises him more than that, though, is how much he missed the members while they were in Korea, between the debut and the tour itself. And he’s not just talking about the sex. He missed them all genuinely, like they really were his friends who he got to spend only a limited amount of time with. 

Before they’d left LA, Taeyong had gifted him a designer bag, and designer sneakers, both previously customized preciously by himself. They’d been other gifts too, like jewelry from Baekhyun, but Mark’s favorite has to be each of their private numbers, entered into his phone each one at a time. 

That kind of trust feeds a different kind of pleasure.

And then before Mark can really focus on anything else, like maybe re-enrolling in classes, they’re back, and Mark has an extended contract because of his “excellent performance” during interviews. Apparently the fans are attached to _him_ now, too. 

What _really_ surprises Mark, more than anything so far, is how much the members seem to have missed him, too. 

So when Taemin _does_ show up at Mark’s door, they go from standing in the hallway to Mark getting pressed up against the wall in less than five minutes, Taemin’s mouth tracing hot kisses down the side of his neck. 

The memory of Jongin’s fingers down his throat in the backseat is still fresh in Mark’s mind. Honestly it’s made him hard and hot in the weeks since, and it’s not as though Mark hasn’t made it back to Jongin’s bed. 

“You can—” Fuck, using his words is hard. Pre-sex communication is so weird. Awkward, but necessary. “Do what you want,” he settles on. It’s the right thing to say; Taemin’s eyes darken and now when he strokes the back of Mark’s head, he presses his neat nails into the base of his skull. It burns. Mark wants more. 

“I’m going to fuck your mouth, Markie,” Taemin says, sugary sweet. His voice is filled with so much unabashed _want_ that it makes Mark’s knees weak, his dick twitching with interest. Taemin’s eyes flick down to his crotch; he knows the effect his words have. 

Mark drops to his knees and Taemin leans back against the hotel room door. He strokes Mark’s hair, twirling the locks lazily. The metaphor—not lost on Mark—is practically _too_ on the nose. 

“Well?” Taemin raises an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something?” 

It’s not surprising Taemin is like this—demanding, a little spoiled. It’s _good_ that Taemin is like this in bed. Mark cock is hardening with the anticipation of being used, at his mouth getting fucked so well he’ll need to be careful talking the next day to be ready for the concert. 

He doesn’t give Mark time to prepare himself. Taemin undoes the buttons to those ridiculous baggy dad jeans of his, which yes, he manages to pull off regardless, pulls himself out to rub the head of his cock against Mark’s waiting lips. 

Taemin isn’t even hard yet. He’s still almost all the way soft when Mark gets his mouth around his cock, enough where the tip doesn’t hit the back of his throat. But Taemin throws his head back and tangles his hand in Mark’s hair either way. Neck stretched, back arched, Taemin is the perfect image sex. Photos don’t do him justice. Nothing could. 

Mark keeps his head aimed up even as he works his tongue around Taemin’s cock, feeling him harden in his mouth, one of the best feelings in the world. There’s nowhere else his eyes should be than trained on Taemin completely. Normally when giving head Mark likes to sink down into that hazy, focused place and let himself be absorbed completely by his task. But now, he’d be missing out on the best part of the experience if he weren’t watching. 

Quiet, soft noises fall from Taemin’s mouth. It’s addicting. 

With Taemin halfway hard, Mark shuffles his knees closer and works his way closer. Soon, he’ll have to really work for it in order to press his face into the thick of hair at the base of Taemin’s cock. The must is so strong there, even though Taemin is obsessive about cleaning himself. He’s tempted to pull back and suck on Taemin’s balls, see if they’re just as good, but the iron grip he’s got in Mark’s hair shows no sign of letting up. 

Instead Mark bobs slowly and carefully, working Taemin finally up to all the way hard, his dick heavy and so _hot_ in Mark’s mouth. Only then does he pull back for air. 

Taemin looks down at him, dazed and not really all there. That’s fine— “Relax,” Mark murmurs. “Take your stress out on me.” 

“Ha, you really are something, Mark Lee.” He slaps the fat head of his cock against Mark’s lips again, the sides of his cheeks. It leaves a wet smear. Not that Mark minds—by the end of this, he’s going to be far messier than this. “So pretty.” 

“You like pretty things,” Mark replies, not-so-subtly trying to angle his face back towards Taemin’s dick. 

“Ah-ah,” Taemin admonishes. “Pretty _and_ greedy. Such a slut.” 

Mark can’t stop—doesn’t want to stop—the moan that comes from him. He feels so small down on his knees like this. “‘M good. Good slut.” 

“Yes you are.” Finally, Taemin pushes his cock back past Mark’s lips, into the warm trap of his mouth. 

Mark sucks him down desperately, already pulling out all the stops, sucking around the head and flicking the underside with his tongue. Taemin’s cock is the perfect size for him—not so big that it’s a struggle, but enough where he still feels full, still feels that delicious ache in his jaw. 

“There you go,” Taemin pants, gentle and cruel all at once. “I told you I’m going to fuck your mouth. You wanna be choked out by me, don’t you? Use that throat for something else besides talking, hmm?” 

And Mark? Mark just nods along. Please, please fuck his mouth. 

Taemin grants his wish. Tilting Mark’s head back by tugging painfully on his hair, he thrusts forward. Suddenly Mark is right there, in that good spot, with Taemin’s cock forcing its way deep into his throat, past comfortable but shy of too much. 

Mark lets himself go. Taemin takes control completely, claiming Mark’s mouth, thrusting in deep and steady. Mark has to close his eyes now, otherwise it’d be too much sensory stimulation, to see and feel and hear Taemin all at once. Tears spring out from the corners. 

It’s been ages since Mark has been used like this. None of the other members have gone quite _this_ far, but it was something Mark’s first long-term hookup in LA was into. Really into. That guy was a dick, but he was good for several of Mark’s Top Ten Best Orgasms ever; and when he left, he stole Mark’s mini fridge, but left him with some good life lessons and open (sexual) horizons. 

Taemin hardly gives him room to breathe. He sucks in haggard breaths through his nose but that’s barely enough. His head starts to swim, world going hazy around the edges. 

“Good?” Fingers against his jaw. He’s here, present, in this hotel room. Back to reality for a moment. Fuck, Mark is so hard in his boxers. It’s becoming a pattern. 

“Yeah,” Mark says, despite coughing a little immediately after. He flashes Taemin his best golden boy smile. “But hyung, you’re not even really choking me yet.” 

“You’re adorable when you’re asking to be destroyed.” 

Mark loses his ability to control his saliva in the second round. It drools out around the corner of his mouth and drips down his chin. And fuck, makes wet, slapping sounds when Taemin’s balls hit his face when he thrusts in. 

“Such a messy slut,” Taemin says, words soft but hands gripping tighter. “Fuck.” Finally, Taemin’s legendary composure breaking. 

There’s something about Taemin that always makes Mark want to work harder, be better. His approval is a drug-induced euphoria that sizzles his veins, from his toes to his dick. 

Taemin thrusts hard and fast into Mark’s mouth, like he’s determined that Mark will feel this tomorrow and the next day when he’s trying to speak to an entire arena of people. He does it and doesn’t care about the consequences, which is so hot it makes Mark dizzy. 

From the back of his throat Mark makes small choking noises. He can’t help it, not when he’s trying to be a good boy and shallow around Taemin’s cock and make it really good for him, but also breathe at the same time. Taemin just groans along with him, like Mark’s pathetic sounds are turning him on more. 

The energy between them is already so frantic that Mark barely notices when Taemin’s hand loosens up on his hair. But he _definitely_ notices when Taemin uses it to pinch Mark’s nose shut. Not for long, but the five seconds with no oxygen feel like an eternity wrapped up into a tight ball ready to burst. 

All Mark can do is moan helplessly around the cock in his throat. 

“God, your throat is so right. We should pass your mouth around backstage. Would you like that?” Mark gurgles a response. “Ha—fuck—are you going to prove you’re good and swallow my come, Minhyung?” 

Somewhere in the haze, Mark thinks he’s nodding. Taemin pulls him in extra tight, far enough that Mark’s throat spasms and his toes curl, and then he feels the hot come spurting down his throat. 

Afterwards, Taemin is so gentle. He eases Mark back slowly, and really, Mark is too dazed to do anything other than blink up at Taemin with stars in his eyes. At this exact moment he feels higher than any drug could take him. 

Taemin even massages his jaw, rubbing soothing circles with his long, delicate fingers. How can someone have perfect fingers? It pulls Mark back to reality with gradual tugs. 

At some point Taemin leaves him to go into the bathroom outside of Mark’s line of sight, and Mark allows his body to slump onto the floor. His dick is still hard and unattended to, but after everything, it feels wrong to touch himself without Taemin watching. Without Taemin giving _permission._

And when Taemin _does_ come back, he rewards Mark for his patience and nudges him onto his hands and knees right there on the drab hotel carpet. Mark can’t held but fucking sob when Taemin tugs his boxers down with one hand and fingers him, pushing him to three fingers before he thinks he’s ready. 

Mark doesn’t want to see the cleaning bill.

  


**+1**

  


Yukhei’s arm around Mark’s shoulder has become a reliable pillar of daily life. The taller man seems to be possessed by an irresistible urge to be touching Mark whenever he’s within arm’s reach (and remember—Yukhei’s arms are _long._ All the better for hugs). The touches aren’t wandering, though, not like Jongin’s or Baekhyun’s. 

But Mark—Mark really wishes they were. 

The tour is nearly entirely over (along with Mark’s tenure as translator) and he’s squarely placed Yukhei in the _unfortunately straight_ category. Great, another hetero guy he can add to his tragic crushes list. 

They’ve been on tour for weeks, though, and there’s been nothing. No smoldering, lingering glances like the ones he shares with Baekhyun. None of Ten or Jongin’s wandering hands. No midnight texts from Taemin, or sneak-attacks from Taeyong. 

Realistically, Mark has nothing to be upset about; Yukhei’s been an amazing friend to him throughout this whirlwind, even though he’s the person he can communicate with the least. Their trip to the Lakers game is, so far, one of the best memories to come from this. But much like how Yukhei talks with his hands and smiles, Mark thinks primarily with his dick. 

But he’s an expert now, apparently, and he can’t detect an inch of flirting. Not even when the two of them go out to eat together alone. It’s just bros being bros.

It’s been months now since he’s known Yukhei, several _weeks_ since they’ve been on tour together, so Mark settles into the paradigm that they are just friends and always will be, Mark big fat stupid crush aside. 

All that changes when, as Mark is trying to subtly slip out of Taeyong’s room, he runs into Yukhei in the hallway. Quite literally. 

“Ow!” Mark hisses, and immediately tries to hush himself as he rubs his nose. Running into a manager right now would be truly beyond awful. He’s so focused on that he doesn’t entirely process just who, exactly, he’s run into, until he feels a large set of hands grip his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry Mark,” Yukhei’s voice is close. It’s possible that Mark is hallucinating it, but he looks up and, nope, that’s Yukhei with his big beautiful eyes and deep voice leaning in close to his face with concern. “Blood?” 

“No blood. I’m good man, it was an accident.” He tries to push them a bit further down, so at least that way they’re not directly outside one of the member’s doors. When he does, it provides the opportunity for his eyes to catch up with his brain. Also, his nose. 

There’s really no way around it—Yukehi looks like he was fucking. Because it’s pretty much level with his eyesight, Mark can definitely see the hickey peeking out from Yukhei’s barely done-up sleeping shirt, and there’s a distinct plumpness to the way his lips are. Mark should know, because he spends a lot of his free time staring at Yukhei’s lips. 

He stares for an embarrassingly long amount of time, so of course Yukhei notices. “Uh,” he says. Mark sees his eyes flicker to the side involuntarily, and when he follows, it registers immediately that Yukhei is looking at Baekhyun’s room. 

Yeah, Mark knows what a post-Baekhyun fuck looks like, and Yukhei definitely fits the bill. 

For a minute, Mark just gapes at Yukhei, probably looking something like a dying fish. His brain circuits aren’t firing correctly; this new information is overloading the system. 

Yukhei looks at him. Mark looks at Yukhei. Even if Yukhei were to say anything, he would be able to hear it over the deafening sounds of his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Uhhhh,” Mark responds. Yukhei jumps as soon as he makes a sound—he’s probably panicking in an entirely different way from Mark right now. “Yo! No, it’s cool! Totally ok.” Mark reaches out to pat Yukhei’s arm in reassurance and is thankful when the other doesn’t flinch away. “I won’t tell anyone, kay? I uh—I already know about Baekhyun hyung.” 

Yukhei shoulders sag in relief. Mark would sigh too, if not for the fact that Yukhei is now inspecting _him_ closer, his eyes drawing over Mark’s tousled hair and to his shirt, which he is just now realizing doesn’t belong to him after all. Taeyong draws all over his clothes—it’d be impossible to mistake it. 

It’s cute, though, how Yukhei’s entire face goes from anxious to flustered in under ten seconds. He stammers at Mark, mind clearly struggling to produce the correct words in any language, much less Korean. He finally produces a solution when, before saying anything at all, turns heel and hurries down the hallway. 

Mark bites down on his lip to keep from calling after him. It’s late. They can’t make a scene. 

The keycard gets dropped on the floor more than once, all while Yukhei’s face turns brighter and brighter. He keeps shooting Mark tiny glances, then furtively looking away when he finds Mark still staring at him, dumbstruck. 

Finally, Yukhei gets into his own room, and Mark is left standing alone in the hallway. 

That’s—it’s not how Mark thought things would go down, but things could always be worse.

  


-

  


It’s not clear _how_ they end up in Baekhyun’s room, exactly, just he, Yukhei, and Baekhyun are all dressed down in sweatpants and baggy shirts. It’s someone’s idea—Mark’s not sure who—to all crowd into Baekhyun’s bed together and watch a movie. 

They settle on something in Korean with Chinese subtitles, for Yukhei. 

It’s been a few days since Mark and Yukhei’s late night encounter. They’re at a new hotel, a new city, another step in the grueling concert schedule. 

He wouldn’t say things are _awkward_ between him and Yukhei, but it’s undeniable that the Chinese man has been avoiding being alone in a room with Mark since. There are also the times Mark catches Yukehi staring at him, like when Mark stretches out in stadium seats during soundchecks. 

Is he imagining that Yukhei’s eyes are drawn to the flash of skin that peeks out from his shirt? 

Baekhyun—he probably knows by now, about his little crush on Yukhei. Mark’s always been so transparent with boys he’s fucking, to a fault. He’d _definitely_ noticed how weird Mark’s been acting since he saw Yukhei in the hallways, fresh from Baekhyun’s looking and _smelling_ like sex. 

He can’t help it. Every time Baekhyun crowds against him and licks hard and demanding into Mark’s mouth he imagines that Yukhei’s there too. Watching them, or maybe bracketing Mark in. 

Obviously, it’s not like Baekhyun is opposed to a threesome. But it feels different, somehow, than it did with Jongin. Yukhei’s different, and he doesn’t know how he acts when it’s just him and Baekhyun, but Mark for sure hasn’t picked up on any signals. Not like the other members, half of whom practically threw themselves at Mark.

Not that he’s complaining. He’s really not. 

Mark doesn’t have the stamina these guys do from the long years of training, the hours and hours of performing. Just this tour alone has taken a heavy toll on him; when he gets back to his apartment in LA he promises himself he’s going to sleep for a week straight. Going straight back to work and different album preparations is unimaginable, not when he’s falling asleep on Baekhyun’s shoulder during the movie. 

Yukhei is on the other side of Baekhyun, wearing nothing but a thin tank top. If Mark curls his body towards Baekhyun, he’s able to subtly peer across his hyung’s body to ogle the sensual, bare curve of Yukhei’s shoulder. 

As the movie passes along, Mark barely pays attention to it, caught between the cozy warmth of being cuddled up and dreaming about doing other things in this bed. Fortunately, Baekhyun doesn’t squirm too much against him. 

Because he’s watching Yukhei so closely, he knows that he doesn’t glance at Mark. Not once, in a way that is definitely purposeful. There’s color brushed across his cheeks, though. It could be the light. It could be something else. 

The movie ends. It’s not late yet, but enough to make things drowsy. “I’m getting into the shower for a _long_ decompress,” Baekhyun announces. He catapults himself off the bed—how does he have so much energy?—but replaces his body with a pillow for Mark to cuddle. 

Mark smushes his face into it—and finds Yukhei on the other side doing the exact same thing. 

“Aw, aren’t you two the cutest,” Baekhyun grins. He snaps an imaginary photo with his fingers. “I should have you two in here more often. Maybe I’ll just sit in the corner and watch.” 

“Hyung!” Mark cries, extremely aware of how more and more awkwards things are getting. He’s blushing now, and not just from the embarrassment. The thought of Baekhyun—and God, maybe _all_ of the members—watching him and Yukhei turns him on a frankly frightening amount. 

“Have fuuuun,” Baekhyun sings as the door closes. The shower comes on only a few moments later—presumably, he’ll be in there for a while. Baekhyun _does not_ take slow showers. Mark flushes with embarrassment. Yukhei’s probably so uncomfortable now, or maybe he can hope the innuendo went over his friend’s head. He braves a look and—

Yukhei’s blushing too. 

And his hand is down by his dick, almost as if he’s trying to relieve some pressure—

Mark's eyes snap back to Yukhei’s face. He can barely prevent his mouth from falling open. 

“Yukhei...” he says carefully. Don’t want to freak him out or anything. “Do you—” 

“Ahh,” Yukhei tries to laugh. Even for him, it’s a little too loud. Somehow, his blush increases in intensity. “I should go, yes—”

Mark kisses him. 

It’s a risk. He doesn’t _know_ Yukhei wants this, not like how it was obvious with the others, with how they were throwing themselves at him. But now Mark realizes, with the power of some robust hindsight, that Yukhei is maybe just _shy._

Everything works out, though, because Yukhei kisses him back something fierce. 

Mark is being pulled over the pillow, once a safe barrier between them, now an utter hindrance, until he’s laying across Yukhei, their legs slotted together so that their—oh, oh, _oh._

Mark moans so loud he’s sure not just Baekhyun has heard it, but the rest of the members and probably the managers, too. He doesn’t care. He _wants_ them to hear, actually, wants them to hear how amazing Yukhei is making him feel right now. 

He nips at Yukhei’s bottom lip, a little too impatient to be careful of potential bruising. 

Because of his size, it feels like Yukhei is everywhere at once. His hands travel up and down Mark’s sides, even brushing temptingly against the hem of his shirt. Mark focuses on exploring the hot, wet inside of Yukhei’s mouth. 

For someone so _physically_ big and strong, Yukhei doesn’t put up much of a fight against Mark’s demanding tongue. He lets him lick inside and god, he’d probably let Mark tongue-fuck his mouth if he wanted to. It’s not a mystery as to why he and Baekhyun would be compatible. 

“Yukhei, Yukhei, Yukhei.” Mark kisses frantically across the other’s jawline, to where it meets his ear. Yukhei is sensitive there and he moans as long as Mark did before when he presses a kiss there. So he repeats the motion. Does it again, and again, until Yukhei is a shivering mess. 

It’s amazing how easily he comes undone, and how easy Mark is for it. 

“Off—take this off,” Yukehi paws impatiently at Mark’s shirt and, finally, they manage to strip it off together. His arms get tangled in his haste, but then it’s right back to kissing Yukhei, which is so nice Mark wants it to be the only thing he does for the rest of his life. 

They’re too preoccupied with each other for it to be embarrassing. The offending article of clothing is instead tossed to the side so Mark can surge forward to fit his lips together with Yukhei’s again. 

“You too,” Mark demands. The expanse of Yukhei’s bare chest is a wet-dream come true, the lines of his muscles looking very much like something Mark wants to trace with his tongue. 

“Do you—can I suck you off?” Mark asks. He’s unsure if Yukhei knows these words in Korean, but it would be hard to misinterpret a mouth on his dick. 

“No,” Yukhei answers, surprising him. Instead, spits filthy into his palm and reaches forward, pushes the worn waistband of Mark’s sweats down to close his hand around Mark’s dick fully.

The bed collides with the wall as Mark’s hips ram forward, fucking himself with Yukhei’s fist. If everyone weren’t already aware of what they were up to, they are now. 

“Oh shit, that’s good. Yeah, fuck, just like that.” It’s a tiny amount painful, Yukhei’s saliva only doing a little to slick the way. It’s the kind of burn that drives Mark crazy, though, and only serves to turn him on further. 

God, he’s already so close. He’s been pining after Yukhei for months—he feels like a teenager making out with his high school sweetheart in the backseat after having only ever held hands. Fortunately, his increasingly desperate arousal also has him pulsing precome from his tip and running over Yukhei’s fingers to slick the way. These sweats might be ruined, after, but it’ll be so worth it. 

“Your hands are so _big,”_ Mark babbles. His forehead is slick with sweat. He might be getting some of it on Yukhei, but right now their bodies are indistinguishable. Yukhei’s lips against his neck, his calloused hand, demand the attention of all of Mark’s senses. “Can you fit both of us? Stroke us both off at once, c’mon Yukhei.” 

Yukhei groans something out in Chinese when Mark pulls his cock, red and pulsing, from his pants. His vision has gone blurry with how good it feels when their cocks finally rub together skin to skin. 

Mark glances down and— “Fuck,” he groans. Of course Yukhei has a big dick. Why wouldn’t he? It’s mouthwatering, and if the feeling of their cocks sliding together wasn’t already making his toes curl, Mark would be on his knees immediately for that cock. 

Yukhei strokes them both without much flair, not that it’s needed. It’s messy and hectic, and the sheets are tangled. But this right here is more than enough, if the constant stream of _“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,”_ out of Mark’s mouth is anything to go by. 

Mark’s orgasm builds on him at lightning speed. He whines high in the back of his throat and presses his blunt nails into Yukhei’s chest. He can just imagine spending hours sitting here in Yukhei’s lap sucking on his nipples until the other man is teary and far beyond sensitive. 

“Kiss me,” Yukhei pants, mouth already so close that their breath mingles as they pant. That’s a good thing, too, because Mark barely has the presence of mind to be in control of his limbs. It takes almost no effort to turn his head to the side and lock Yukhei into another kiss with plenty of teeth and tongue. 

“You close puppy?” The nickname slips out of him before he can bite down on it. He hears Baekhyun call him that sometimes. He must do it in bed, too, because Yukhei reacts with uncontrolled moan and a jerk of his hip nearly violent enough to toss Mark off his lap. “Yeah, that’s good, more, more.” 

He feels out of it, on another plane, when he orgasm creeps up on him out of nowhere, and he’s spilling over Yukhei’s fast-pumping fist, his cock spurting hot come over Yukhei’s. It doesn’t make him stop—in Mark’s haze, he barely process how freakishly sexy it is that Yukhei is easing the path to his own orgasm with Mark’s cum. 

Blindly, his head collapsed on Yukhei’s broad shoulder, he reaches one of his own hands down into the mess between them and presses that space just below Yukhei’s balls and he shouts—actually shouts—as he comes between them. 

They have thirty seconds of peace before Baekhyun begins clapping. 

Yukhei nearly jumps out of his skin, but apparently all of Mark’s weight on him is enough of a deterrent to keep him on the bed. 

“Very impressive,” Baekhyun says. 

“Shut up,” Mark shoots back, reply muffled by Yukhei’s shoulder. The skin there is salty from sweat, but Mark doesn’t mind. Maybe they can commandeer Baekhyun’s shower together for round two. 

Baekhyun just cackles. 

“Sorry for ruining your sheets, hyung,” Yukhei says sheepishly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Baekhyun sits on the corner of the bed and rubs a circle into Mark’s ankle. “This just means you have to let me sleep in your bed tonight, puppy.” 

“Ok,” Yukhei squeaks. 

“Ah, our precious maknaes never stop being cute. Hey, can I take a picture?” 

_“Hyung,_ no!” Mark rolls straight off the bed. He’s dragging Yukhei into the bathroom pronto, before Baekhyun can corrupt him even more. 

-

“You fucked Yukhei in Baekhyun’s bed last night,” Ten states accusingly the next morning. 

“Well,” Mark nearly chokes on his banana, “we didn’t _fuck,_ exactly.” 

“I can’t believe you two,” Ten bemoans. “I’m so jealous!” 

Mark knows he’s never going to live this down. 

  


**+2.**

  


“I’ll miss you,” Mark says quietly into Jongin’s shoulder. He may or may not be crying. Alright, he’s definitely crying, who is he kidding. His only comfort is that he’s not the only around—there are sniffles all around him.

This is Mark’s last day on tour. After this, the members go back to Korea to prep for other comebacks, solo albums, magazine spreads. Mark is going back to LA. 

It’s not all bad. He’s returning to a new apartment, a small but comfortable studio courtesy of SM Entertainment’s billing department. And he’s going back to another semester, too, spot secure in the translation department. Professor Sun says he’ll even get credit for all this. 

But yeah, until then. Tears. 

Jongin’s arms tighten around him in comfort. Someone else’s hand rubs circles into Mark’s back—Ten, from the feel of it. 

“We’ll miss you too,” Taemin says by his left ear. 

“Yeah,” Yukhei agrees from the other side. 

“This means you’ll just have to come visit,” Baekhyun says with far more confidence than Mark feels. He sounds so assured, that everything will work out. “Give me your passport number, I’ll buy you a ticket.” 

“Ugh, hyung, so creepy.” Baekhyun laughs into his palm, but with his other hand plays with the end of Mark’s hair. 

“You say that now.”

  


**+3.**

  


Mark is in bed when they call. When Taemin’s face appears on screen, taking up the entirety of it, Mark had just been laying down to a comforting Netflix binge paired with tacos from the truck around the corner. 

_“Ooh scandalous!”_ Ten laughs. 

“Hyung, move the camera more—that’s it!” Everyone’s there, piled together on a couch in what looks to be one of SM’s practice rooms. “Hi everyone!” 

_“Everyone!”_ Yukhei echoes. It’s one of his favorite words, after all. 

“What’re you up to?” Mark asks, sitting up some. The double-chin look isn’t cute. 

_“What are_ you _up to?”_ Baekhyun asks. His hair is a chestnut shade, the same as it had been for his solo comeback. Mark has a signed copy of the album in his bookshelf. _“You’re shirtless! Are you....”_ he pauses for dramatic effect, _“masturbating?”_

Mark tries to hide himself under his blankets, to no avail. They’re so _embarrassing._ He’s missed them a lot. 

“It’s night time here you know,” Mark rolls his eyes. 

_“Have you heard from the company?”_ Taemin busts in. _“There are plans for a summer comeback.”_

Something warm erupts in Mark’s chest. “I think you’re spoiling, Taemin hyung.” 

_“What he means is that we’ll see you soon,”_ Taeyong says from where his head rests on Baekhyun’s shoulders. 

“I’m looking forward to it. I’m your biggest fan, you know.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> See you all in reveals! (Is it predictable? I feel like it is.)


End file.
